No Pressure
by thesmokinggnu
Summary: The night before the Quidditch final in PoA, and tensions are running high... Awkward conversations, misunderstandings and alcohol consumption ensues. FredxAngelina, KatiexAlicia


_Minerva McGonagall_

"...And as I've always said, Quidditch is a sport not a ballet. Injuries are of course most regrettable, but we can't be wrapping the students in cotton wool now can we?"

The silky drawl of Severus Snape was the first thing that accosted Professor McGonagall as she entered the staffroom, her eyes narrowing behind their spectacles. Normally the members of staff were able to contain their intense sporting rivalry behind a carefully maintained facade of professionalism, but as the final approached emotions were running high in the school, and the staffroom was no exception. In this vein, Snape had been in the process of sharing his own quidditch philosophy with Madame Hooch, no doubt trying to pre-emptively avert any penalties that could go in Gryffindor's favour as a result of his own team's alternative tactics.

"Ah Severus, but sport must be played by the rules must it not? It is my opinion that superior skill will always triumph over thuggery; and I also believe certain students would do well to be reminded of that." Her face remained impassive as she spoke, but her tone lost none of its bite.

"Indeed Minerva, I was merely stating that - illegal manoeuvres aside - quidditch is such a safe and fulfilling pastime: zooming around in mid-air at 50mph while the opposing team hit bludgers at you – it would be a shame to spoil that." Snape responded smoothly "A team has to be well-rounded, after all we all have different strengths do we not?"

"So strength _is_ a priority for the Slytherin team then. Well I confess I have often wondered about your selection procedure. Although it was good of you to include Warrington and Montague; I don't suppose they have much else going for them do they..." Minerva mused idly, whilst pretending to inspect a teacup to make sure it was absolutely clean before she poured herself a drink. Normally she would never speak ill of individual students in front of her colleagues, but much as she hated to admit it the Potions Master's incessant attempts to put the entire Gryffindor team in detention, as well as actively encouraging his students to jinx, threaten and maim her own, were, as Rolanda Hooch was inclined to say, really getting on her tits. The other members of staff present were glancing between the two heads of house, necks bobbing as though following a tennis match, whilst Flitwick who was closest began to back away slowly, nonchalantly attempting to blend into the wallpaper behind him, and wondering whether diving for cover behind the sofa would be considered undignified for a charms professor.

_Angelina Johnson_

"He's looking at you again!" Alicia sang grinning at Angelina, who scowled at her Astronomy homework and pretended not to hear.

"Look at you – playing it cool Ange that's what we like to see" smirked Katie, enjoying their friend's discomfort.

Pressure got to people in different ways, thought Angelina: some people coped with food, others developed obsessive behaviour (á la Oliver), yet thanks to the ancient law of Sod, Alicia Spinnet, aided enthusiastically by George, had been decided a productive way of channelling her nervous energies was dedicating them to setting Angelina up with Fred Weasley. Even more unfortunately she wasn't the kind to do things by half, but threw herself into her latest project with her own particular brand of Machiavellian brilliance, setting up series of ingeniously engineered "chance encounters", the latest of which was almost artistic in its complexity involving two broomsticks, a fanged frisbee, Mrs Norris, and one very confused thestral.

When Angelina had tried to protest - in the interest of her own survival – that she wasn't in the slightest bit interested in the boy whose greatest achievement to date was bewitching a flying ... to follow Marcus Flint around all day and swat him on the back of the head every time he spoke, Alicia had pointed out that that argument might have been more convincing if Angelina hadn't been looking at him that whole time she was speaking.

The annoying thing was, she was right. It wasn't that Angelina didn't like him, quite the opposite in fact, it was just that the confidence that she possessed in such quantities on the quidditch pitch was noticeably lacking off it. In her mind she would rather take on the entire Slytherin team armed only with a beater's bat and a Cleansweep 4 than admit out loud to liking someone in that way. Especially when that someone happened to be Fred bloody Weasley.

"_By calculating the angle of the celestial tangent formed between Neptune and Saturn at corresponding stages of their orbits, predict the date of the ascension of Pluto into the fourth house." _Shit. She glanced up at Katie hopefully, but she was wearing that lazy lopsided smile of hers, watching Alicia as she absentmindedly sketched a snitch in the corner of her own parchment. Angelina had noticed the two of them growing closer over the last year, and how ironic it was that someone as sharp as Alicia could completely miss what was right under her nose. Although Katie was a year younger, and therefore didn't share any classes with either of her older teammates, Angelina supposed there was just something about 8 hour training sessions in wind, sleet and fog that was more effective in bringing people together than stagnant hours spent in History of Magic could ever be.

Katie glanced up, sensing Angelina's gaze upon her, then it was her turn to blush as she realized she had been caught staring. It was actually quite sweet Angelina mused, raising a superb eyebrow in Katie's direction. Tactfully however the older girl chose not to say anything, smug at her own maturity, but also appreciating that Katie was far less likely to help her with the maths if she had to endure any more innuendos from Angelina concerning blondes and broomsticks. Those two had been dancing around one another for far too long: if the penny didn't drop soon Angelina was going to do something drastic.

As the evening trickled by the younger students slowly disappeared, and Angelina envied them, wishing she could sleep as easily the night before a match. It didn't seem fair that the players had to fight a double battle; both on the pitch and the nerves beforehand.

The astronomy homework had been conquered; the convoluted mathematics of Saturn's trajectory explained by the ever patient Katie, and Angelina was left with nothing to distract her from the increasingly strong urge to steal a glance over to the corner of the room where three boys; two identical and one with dreadlocks to rival Angelina's own, were playing exploding snap, and judging by the level of noise, rather badly. She tried not to dwell on the admiring audience – all of whom were noticeably lacking in Y chromosomes – and felt a little smug as she felt Fred's gaze settle on her again.

She had been studiously avoiding eye contact all evening, because as everyone knew eye contact lead to admission, which could lead to acceptance, then reciprocation, and who the hell knew where that would lead? She was perfectly happy in the quiet corner that was denial: at least that's what she told herself as she started folding her fourth origami swan from a scrap piece of parchment with more vigour than was absolutely necessary. She just couldn't bring herself to open up to all that vulnerability. Besides, when you took into account the incessant wisecracks and practical jokes, and the fact that he never took anything seriously – except quidditch – it worked out that she only really _liked_ him about forty percent of the time.

When it came to telling Fred and George apart, Angelina did better than most people. Fred was always the instigator, the first to laugh. Then, as particularly loud BANG shattered the peace/nervous tension of the common room (depending on whether or not you would be walking onto the quidditch pitch in less than 12 hours time), she realised ruefully that he was also the one with no eyebrows. Brilliant.

_Katie Bell I_

Quiet and bookish, Katie Bell had been the youngest on the team until Harry came along, and as everyone knew, young inexperienced chasers were what was affectionately known within the sport, as bludger-fodder. She had been too nervous to try-out for the team, and apart from the gobstones club on Tuesday nights she had mostly kept herself to herself.

That had all changed during one blustery second year flying lesson when along with Madame Hooch there had been a burly, scowling 6th year by the name of Eddie MacMillan (Wood's predecessor), pacing up and down and eyeing the 20 or so second years in varying states of terror as they attempted to cling on the ancient school broomsticks in a rapidly developing force 9 gale. It was only when he pulled her aside after the lesson she learned that he was the Gryffindor quidditch captain, and that following a particularly hard fought match against Ravenclaw the previous week no fewer than 4 of his first team were in the hospital wing with approximately 47 broken bones and one severed limb (which Madame Pomfrey later reattached) between them.

Desperate times however, called for desperate measures, and it was with a certain reluctance he informed a less-than-enthusiastic Katie that she had fulfilled the emergency selection criteria of: a) being in Gryffindor and b) having sufficient equilibrium to remain on a broom for more than 15 seconds, and would therefore be required as a substitute for the upcoming final against Hufflepuff.

When she was finally promoted from the bench into the first team, her previous apprehension vanished. The sheer adrenaline high and the recklessness that she had never before experienced lifted her out of her comfortable existence into what felt to Katie like a whole different reality, as she soared around the stadium after scoring a goal, the delicious sensation of the wind in her hair as a hundred people in red, and one blonde chaser in particular, screamed her name.

She quit the gobstones club. She fell in love with flying, and with the rush it brought. And she may have fallen a little bit in love with Alicia Spinnet.

_Weasley, F_

Fred watched her leave, book under arm, and his forehead creased in puzzlement. He had been shooting fleeting glances at her all evening, increasingly less subtle, as he realised she had been pointedly not looking at him and he was free to ogle all he wanted. Well, until he'd stared a bit too long and George had been quick to take advantage of the situation, leaving his gently smoking brother with no eyebrows and a slight burning odour.

Muttering something about going to the loo he rose to his feet and made to follow her through the portrait hole, oblivious to the knowing smiles that George and Alicia shared behind his retreating back.

He found her on the Astronomy Tower. She had her back to him and was leaning out into space, elbows resting on the stone railing. Her dark skin and robes rendered her all but invisible; he could only make out her inky silhouette, a negative impression against the star-brushed April night.

"Evening, Johnson. Is the library closed or are you starting a rival establishment up here? I mean the view's not bad I suppose, but the fourteen flights of stairs might put people off. Not me though of course, dedicated student that I am. " He addressed her sounding much cooler than he felt. Or perhaps not, he thought as her only response was a soft chuckle.

"Johnson? Really? You follow me up said fourteen flights of stairs, and then call me by my last name: I have to say I'm getting mixed signals over here. And I can think of several professors, if not the entire teaching staff who would disagree with your little self-assessment there."

"Ah," said Fred nodding wisely, "well have you seen our teachers? Not the brightest bunch I've always thought. And I can understand if you're confused - probably all the sexual tension throwing you off balance."

She didn't even bother hiding her amusement this time and turned flashing a grin towards where he stood in the doorway. Encouraged, he stepped over the threshold and stood next to her, enjoying the scent of pine needles rising from the Forbidden Forest, and the now familiar combination of warmth and recklessness he had come to associate with her presence. On the quidditch pitch she radiated pure energy, a blurred streak of scarlet and ebony, her laughter like liquid confidence that left him breathless from just watching her, and slightly dizzy in a way that flying itself never could.

"You're imagining things, Weasley." She replied airily, refusing to rise to the bait.

He opened his mouth, witty retort dying on his tongue as he frantically racked his brains for something vaguely intelligent to say, when the little voice in his head (which sounded suspiciously like George) went _"Fuck it." _The truth was Angelina intimidated him a little: she hovered as though on a broomstick just beyond his reach, yet pulling him continually closer with the odd teasing remark here and there, that familiar half-smile playing around her lips which on its own was enough to make him lose his train of thought.

He had refrained from laying on the moves too heavily until now because however much he wanted to there was still a tiny portion of his brain warily advising him that there was a strong possibility she would simply hex him into next week. But at least then he'd know. And he was a Weasley; imaginary doubting voices were for chickens and Hufflepuffs.Besides, if they lost tomorrow there was a good chance Oliver would murder them both anyway - now there was a cheerful prospect.He twisted to face her, his face split into the crooked grin which invariably inspired anxiety in the people who knew what it meant, and leant towards her.

It wasn't the most romantic first kiss, or the smoothest; their noses bumped together, and there were a couple of muttered, self-conscious apologies from both sides before their breath mingled warmly between their faces and he hesitated, their lips barely a centimetre apart. Then they weren't, and he felt the warm pressure of her lips against his, pulling her closer as his teeth accidentally grazed her upper lip. Eyelids lowered and mouths opened wider as his pulse quickened, bodies pressed together and hands fumbled in the dark, enveloped in the privacy of the silent tower. It wasn't particularly elegant or choreographed, just over far too soon, as the sound of a door slamming echoed from inside the castle, and they broke apart. There was an awkward pause for a second, and then they caught each others' gaze and blushed.

"I..." Angelina began to speak, then closed her mouth and thought the better of it. "I should go." She murmured finally, "If Alicia sees us I will never live it down. No offence." She added hastily. Angelina realised she was talking too fast, and took a deep breath to allow her somewhat dazed critical faculties to catch up with what she was saying. "Anyway... Good luck for tomorrow Weasley. It would be a terrible shame if one of those bludgers got you. Or me for that matter." She continued, the sureness returning to her voice, and then she grinned again and winked, before vanishing into the doorway, leaving a slightly stunned Fred Weasley alone in the night, with the taste of spearmint lingering on his lips.

_2/3 Alicia Spinnet, 1/3 George Weasley_

The common room was quieter now, the noisy hubbub and high spirits of earlier in the evening diminished to low murmurs and the occasional stifled giggle. Alicia rubbed her eyes and yawned: everyone had long ago abandoned the pretence of studying as the collective nervous butterflies began to manifest themselves more clearly among those who remained. She knew she should go to bed, that she needed to rest before the game tomorrow, but she also knew once she headed up the narrow stone staircase it would only be to lie awake behind the claustrophobic velvet curtains of her four poster, eyes closed and furiously counting sheep after bloody sheep, trying to fall asleep by force of sheer willpower.

As she watched a glowing log in the fireplace collapsed with a quiet flump, sending tiny golden embers dancing against the black of the grate. Angelina had already disappeared to God knows where, and Alicia may not have had Katie's brains, but unless Angelina had undergone a radical personality change in the last half hour she was really not the type prone to midnight library visits, not to mention the fact that Fred Weasley refused to set foot in the place as a matter of principle.

"Oi, Alicia!" An irritatingly cheerful voice accompanied by freckles and hair that put any self-respecting fire engine to shame hailed her from across the room. Speak of the devil. Well, almost.

"Alright George?" She glanced up and smiled tiredly as he threaded his way between the mostly unoccupied faded sofas towards her. Collapsing in the adjacent armchair with a sigh indicative of a completed marathon, he leaned in conspiratorially and jerked his head towards where Oliver sat hunched over a model quidditch pitch in the opposite corner, muttering to himself and prodding the miniature broomstick-mounted figures with his wand.

"Do you think we should talk to him? Maybe the pressure's got to him and he's finally lost it." George's concern, if indeed there was any, was lost in amusement and Alicia swatted him lightly on the arm.

"Oh leave him be. You know what he's like, he'll be fine tomorrow." Alicia did indeed know what Oliver was like: one of the boys in his year whilst trying to chat her up had mentioned that they sometimes had to put silencing charms on him in the middle of the night, because apparently Oliver did not let a little thing like sleep prevent him from talking about quidditch. Besides, they had more important things to discuss.

"But, seeing as you're here... Care to mention where your brother ran off to in such a hurry?" Her eyes glinted; discussions of Oliver Wood's mental stability could wait.

Alicia was drifting off again. George was talking about something, possibly niffler related but she wasn't sure. Her eyes followed Katie's hand writing a very long letter that trailed over three pieces of parchment. For some reason Alicia felt irrational stirrings of what she dearly wanted to mistake for intellectual curiosity, but had all the characteristics of something else entirely.

She knew Katie had posted a letter to her parents only that morning, and the portion of her brain that had been allocated to George's anecdote was instead wondering who merited what surely qualified as an essay that Katie was writing. She was left-handed, which meant that as she wrote the bottom of her hand trailed across the neat lines of script, leaving inky smudges on her palm and highlighting the fine white lines that crisscrossed like spider webs. Then something that George was saying jerked her back to their conversation with a mild sense of alarm.

"... Which is why... You know... I think we should go out sometime. Or somewhere. Maybe. If you like, I mean Hogsmeade's quite nice if you're into villages... and stuff..." George stuttered to a halt under Alicia's piercing gaze and decided to change tack. "I mean Fred and Angelina, Me and You; you have to appreciate the symmetry." He laughed nervously, faced with Alicia's very respectable imitation of McGonagall's patented 'Death Stare'.

"Symmetry? You are suggesting that we go on a date because it is geometrically convenient?" Alicia responded sceptically. George wilted slightly and Alicia noticed with what was definitely academic interest that Katie's hand had stilled and the back of her neck turned a delicate shade of pink.

Seeing his wounded expression the blonde haired girl took pity on him and tried to backtrack quickly. She had sometimes flirted a little with George, but neither of them ever took it seriously, and she suspected that him asking her out had more to do with Fred and Angelina, and what they were undoubtedly doing at that moment than it did with her. He felt the urge to keep up with his twin, not wanting to be left behind. Alicia had three sisters; she could relate to that.

"Look George, it's nothing personal I just don't feel that way – I mean I like being friends with you; it wouldn't be nearly as much fun taking the piss out of Fred and Angelina by myself." She smiled tentatively as she said it, and George studied her for a moment and then the corner of his lip twitched in return, accepting the proffered olive branch. He was reasonably sure that Alicia understood far better than she was letting on, but also that she was as stubborn as a bloody mule, and if solidarity was the most she was offering then he would take it.

"Besides if you two got together then you would be effectively abandoning me to Harry and Oliver, and you couldn't bear the guilt for doing that to me could you Al?" Katie interjected to rescue her friend, smiling sweetly at the four raised eyebrows and one wrinkled nose that greeted this statement and her use of Alicia's nickname.

"Hmm I'm not sure you'd mind all that much... I know Oliver can be a bit over the top sometimes, but he's not without redeeming features," remarked Alicia slyly, watching for Katie's reaction, and was not disappointed when her complexion changed rapidly to resemble George's hair. Katie was easily embarrassed – something that Alicia sometimes felt bad about in her quieter moments, yet still could never resist poking her. Alicia tried very hard to assemble her features into a relaxed expression; as though it really didn't matter to her whether or not Katie found Oliver Wood attractive because - she told herself sternly - it didn't.

"Well, err I suppose... I'm not saying he's not fit, just not my type..." Her protestations tailed off limply. Her eyes were locked on Alicia's, who George noticed was looking ever so slightly uncomfortable: what looked suspiciously like a blush began to creep up her neck, her pale complexion taking on a distinctly rosy tinge in the light of the dying fire. Something clicked then inside his head.

"What is your type then? I suppose you prefer blondes don't you?" George's tone was casual; far too casual. A spike of adrenaline shot through Alicia's bloodstream and two blue-eyed gazes collided: one wide eyed with shock, the other gleaming with delight. George worked it out at the same time as Alicia, and her first thought was _"How the hell does he do that?"_,shortly followed by "_Oh shit."_

_Katie Bell II_

It was going to be a beautiful day. Admittedly it didn't look like much now, but from where she stood in staring out over the lake, the quidditch pitch towering behind her, she could see one particularly bright patch of sky in the East, where the sun hovered behind a curtain of mist awaiting its cue to appear.

Unfortunately sunglasses were a bit impractical in quidditch matches, so if they won the toss they should chose to play towards the South-facing lakeside stand, ensuring that as the sun rose Bletchley would be too blinded by the rare Scottish sunlight to see the three figures in red swooping towards him. Ideally they should go with the Hawkshead formation, focussing their attack down the right hand side to capitalise fully on their advantage, she thought, trying to picture in her head whether the stands would provide enough cover to allow the Slytherins to counter-attack in the shade.

Her heart wasn't in it though. Try as she might, all she could conjure up in her mind's eye was the expression of hurt and confusion on Alicia's face the previous night, when George had tactfully excused himself, and Katie had all but fled up to her dormitory once she had seen the light of comprehension dawn on her friend's face.

Katie didn't know exactly when her feelings had developed beyond the safe boundaries of friendship, but somewhere along the way the lines had become blurred; like had become affection, blossomed into attraction which grew into... Well that was the problem.

She had only ever had one boyfriend: a retrospectively ill-advised relationship-sort-of with a Hufflepuff called Summerby, but she never felt with him the jolt in her stomach, or that floaty feeling in her chest that was near constant whenever Alicia was in the room. At a loss to define them, she had pushed these thoughts to the very back of her hormone addled teenage brain; a figurative drawer filled with those loose threads of angst, insecurity and repressed emotions: harmless enough whilst ignored but she dared not tug at them lest her carefully constructed facade came completely undone.

So things carried on as they were; they laughed and joked at training, hung out together in the evenings, and Katie smiled and rolled her eyes as Alicia flirted with Cedric Diggory, then later resisted the urge to knock him off his broom during the following match.

Sometimes though she could hope. Every once in a while she would catch Alicia looking at her; a peculiar expression on her face that vanished as soon as it appeared. These moments were fleeting though, so rare, like a glimmer in the corner of your eye that vanishes as soon as you turn your head. It was almost enough to convince her she had imagined it. But not quite. Try though she might she couldn't quite repress that tiny glow of hope that appeared and allowed her to believe, if just for one shining second, that the girl who was funny, athletic, clever and pretty would look at her, and Katie would see all her own warmth and affection reflected back at her in those clear blue eyes.

_Oh get a grip. _ Katie shook herself, today she needed to be focussed, and there would be plenty of time after the match for the inevitable angst-fest; getting quietly drunk in the corner of the common room and glaring at any boys' increasingly clumsy attempts to get off with her.

"Katie? What are you doing out here? Oliver's doing his nut he thought the Slytherins had got you."

Lost in thought, Katie nearly jumped out of her skin, and whirled around. Alicia had rounded the corner of the changing rooms and was leaning against the wall clutching a broomstick in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. "I guessed you'd be out here but I thought you might appreciate the quiet so I told him you were still in bed. When I left he was on the warpath heading for the common room. Have some toast."

Alicia made no move towards her, just held out the piece of toast in a napkin, as though Katie were a skittish animal she didn't want to frighten off. Cautiously peering round the door she had seen her teammates in the Great Hall earlier: Fred (she assumed) and Angelina sitting carefully apart, catching one another's eye and grinning when they thought no-one was looking; George with tousled hair still half asleep, dozing on Alicia's shoulder; Oliver glaring at a poached egg as though it had personally offended him, while poor Harry just looked like he was about to be sick. Unable to deal with her feelings there and then she had instead headed straight down to the pitch hoping the fresh air would clear her head.

Gratefully she accepted the toast and munched on it in silence they stared out over the lake. Snatches of laughter and singing drifted on the still air as the clouds broke up and yellow sunlight spilled over the twin tides of emerald and scarlet that swirled and mingled filling up the stands, the anticipation rising to a fever pitch as the whistle approached.

"You've been avoiding me. That's why you left so early this morning, and why you are skulking around down here instead of eating breakfast like a normal person." Alicia spoke quietly, but without accusation and Katie picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.

"I'm sorry." It was an awkward muttered apology and Katie's eyes flicked up briefly before refocusing on the ground and taking another bite of toast.

"Me too. I saved you some bacon but George ate it." Katie looked at her properly this time, slightly incredulous: she felt as though her heart had been trampled by stampeding hippogriffs and Alicia was making wisecracks about bacon?

"Ok, sorry, that came out wrong; I didn't come down to take the piss." Alicia sighed. She knew what she wanted to say, but they were on dangerous ground here. She had no idea how to handle this and was terrified of saying the wrong thing.

"You like me." It was a statement, but she watched for Katie's reaction, the question implicit in her gaze. She didn't doubt Katie's feelings towards her, not anymore, but if the younger girl walked away or asked her to drop it then Alicia would let her go.

The answering nod was almost imperceptible, and Alicia realised she had been holding her breath. Katie looked at her expectantly forcing down the bubble of hope that was rapidly expanding in her chest. _She's just being nice; this is the part where she tells you to get lost. But she brought you toast. And saved you bacon._

"Well... Me too." It was a barely audible exhalation and as she said it Alicia looked away for the first time. As far as Alicia Spinnet was concerned uncertainty was something that happened to other people, like allergies, or having a cat. For the most part she knew what she was doing, and when she didn't she just pretended she did anyway, making it up as she went along.

But then again she reasoned, today was never going to be normal, and Katie had been knocking her off balance since the moment they met: it had taken her until the night before however to realise exactly how much.

Katie's eyes widened in disbelief and for a second Alicia thought she had misjudged the situation horribly. Some sign of her clenched stomach must have been reflected in her face, because Katie laughed at her expression, suddenly feeling a lot freer than she had in a long time. She was half tempted to go in for kiss then and there, but judging by her facial expression Alicia had done enough emotional outpouring to last her a while, and Katie didn't want to push it.

She compromised by throwing her last crust into the lake with a flick of her wrist, where it floated for a second before vanishing in a flash of tentacle and a small splash. With her newly freed left hand she reached out for Alicia's right and squeezed it gently entwining their fingers together.

The clouds broke up suddenly bathing the lakeside in sunshine, and behind them the crowd began to roar.

_Minerva McGonagall II_

Minerva McGonagall was certainly not drunk. For a start she was the deputy headmistress and inebriation would be highly unprofessional, and secondly she was descended from countless generations of Scots; whiskey practically ran through her veins.

The staff party had finished: it was always a lively affair, but heightened this year by Slytherin's demise: the last time it had consisted solely of a jubilant Professor Snape and abundant icy glares from the rest of the teaching staff.

The bell on the astronomy tower struck three times as the transfiguration professor meandered back to her rooms humming Flower of Scotland and clutching a somewhat depleted bottle of firewhiskey. She was vaguely aware that she should check on her students to make sure the celebrations hadn't got too out of hand, but the other half of her brain reminded her that reaching Gryffindor Tower involved climbing rather a lot of stairs, and that it might to be wiser to wait until her sense of equilibrium was fully restored.

Whilst her sense of teacherly responsibility battled it out with the tantalising image of bed and sleep, two figures came stumbling along the corridor, giggling loudly and brushing against her as they passed before pulling aside a tapestry on the wall and vanishing through the door behind it. Before her whiskey drenched synapses could make sense of this she heard rapid footsteps approaching from the same direction, and she barely had time to stuff the bottle inside a conveniently placed suit of armour before Severus Snape rounded the corner with purpose in his stride and a face like thunder.

"Detention!" His triumphant shout upon seeing a figure in the murky corridor was followed by a hasty and thoroughly insincere apology as he got closer and was met by the deputy headmistress wearing a highly affronted expression.

"My apologies Minerva; I mistook you for Weasley and Johnson and was naturally concerned for the safety of students out of bounds at this time of night and no doubt under the influence of Rosmerta's finest." Fortunately he was too busy attempting to peer around her into the corridor beyond, wand light held aloft, to notice the way McGonagall shifted uncomfortably at the mention of 'Rosmerta's finest'. She was grateful to the suit of armour which was also doing its best to look innocent.

"I do not appreciate being shouted at Severus, but in the name of congeniality I shall overlook it on this occasion." Minerva spoke graciously but the look Snape gave her in return could have curdled milk. She had so far refrained from gloating about the Gryffindor victory; there was no need – his facial expression when he handed over the 20 galleons he owed her had spoken a thousand words.

"And as for Weasley and Johnson I believe they went that way." She continued, peering down the corridor in precisely the opposite direction to where the two teenagers were hiding. She wasn't normally one to help students evade punishment but thanks to them she was 20 galleons richer. You could buy a lot of catnip for 20 galleons.

"I should get after them if I were you – I would assist you but I am afraid I am not as young as I once was and it is getting late so I shall bid you goodnight Severus."

He surveyed her for a moment then spun on his heel and stalked off in the direction she had pointed. Chuckling Minerva watched him round the corner before retrieving the bottle and continuing down the corridor making a conscious effort not to wobble too much. Sometimes it was just too easy.

_Fin._


End file.
